The View from Nowhere
by mrssosostris
Summary: One night, the last good piece of Kurt Hummel's old life is lost forever. Broken, angry and terrified, he takes an aimless walk beyond the shrubbery at the bottom of his yard into the fields beyond. There, under a tree, he meets a stranger who will alter the course of his life forever.
1. Chapter 1

**_Not all those who wander are lost._**

**_-J.R.R. Tolkein  
_**

* * *

In the (un)lucky dip of life, Kurt Hummel had managed to pick out every conceivable disadvantage. His hair was mouse brown and completely unvoluminous, requiring constant attention to make it appear even the slightest bit human. Though good for singing, his speaking voice somehow sounded like a five year old girl on helium, its high, grating timbre persisting even after puberty had done its worst. He had oily skin that would be prone to spots if he didn't spend half an hour every night on a strict moisturising routine, the kind of metabolism that meant he gained a stone just by sniffing a doughnut, and preposterously large feet that made ordering designer shoes in small town Ohio an impossibly more impossible struggle.

And he had asthma.

Oh, and his mother had died when he was eight. Of breast cancer. That sucked too. He'd watched her waste away as the life was slowly sapped from her body, her beaming smile sinking deeper and deeper into the crevices of her face until she was nothing more than a grinning skull. Now the harsh outlines of her deep eye sockets were his clearest memory of her, sharp bones that haunted him from beneath his own skin. We are all skeletons underneath it all.

After that he'd grown up a bit and had landed himself a place at the world's worst school. McKinley made the idea that 'those who can't, teach' seem like the truest pronouncement in the history of the world. He hated school, and school hated him.

Oh, and as if that wasn't enough, he was gay. Very much so. He would be, wouldn't he? And everyone had known it before he had, whispering hateful words behind his back and calling him names and phoning him in the middle of the night to make sure he couldn't even feel safe in his own room.

Yes, out of everything, the gay thing brought him most grief of all. Not his hair, not his shoes, not his complete lack of athleticism, not even his voice. Of everything, it was his sexuality that got to them above all else. It angered them so much that guys who barely knew his name were hurling him in dumpsters and tossing frozen drinks in his face. They called him a fag and threatened to rearrange his features before he'd even had the chance to use his bad luck to mess up his life all on his own. He wasn't even allowed the dignity of screwing himself up.

Through all this, there had only ever been one person who had been able to make it the slightest bit better.

And now that person was lying comatose in a hospital bed with a heart that was barely hanging on. This was the person who had always picked up the pieces, the person who'd attached pink streamers to his handlebars and who had bought him sensible heels for his three-year-old feet.

The only good thing left in his life was fading away like the end of a good movie, playing on and on until it expired. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Kurt knew what would happen, he could feel it right down into his bones. He was about to lose everyone, and no one seemed to care.

No one had even noticed.

* * *

The waiting was the worst part.

The tic, tic, tic of the clock, the drip drip drip drop of the kitchen tap and the occasional gust of wind at the window as night drew in; everything seemed to be counting down to the next chapter of disappointment in Kurt Hummel's life. Time drew torturously on and on, stretching his pain out against the vermillion sunset. He spent the time lying on his bed, gazing out of the window. _Red sky at night, shepherd's delight_, wasn't that the old adage? Yep, the universe just _loved _making his life a living hell.

He curled up under the duvet, the odd tear rolling down his cheek as he watched as the sky faded to black and the moon rose full in the sky. A yellow skull. Clouds would come and go, shrouding the moon in the comfort of a dark cloak only to whip it off just moments later, exposing its pallid body once more to the harsh, darkened sky. Sometimes the house would creak, a dim reminder that there were once, not so long ago, two big personalities living there. And before that, three.

He wanted desperately to be with his father, now more than ever. But everything he touched turned to heartache, shattering into a hundred pieces before his eyes, and he didn't want his dad to die in pain. He didn't want to be haunted by those last few gasps of breath.

A lone owl hooted somewhere in the field at the back of the house, launching its assonant tones into the night air in the hope that its twit would eventually find a twoo.

And then the phone rang. It was something of an anticlimax in the end.

"We're sorry Mr. Hummel, there was nothing we could do."

Kurt had expected it, of course he had. The nurse's voice washed over him, saying it was peaceful and dignified and everything one would want a death to be.

_Want a death to be_.

And now he was an orphan four months shy of his seventeenth birthday. He'd probably end up in a home once the authorities were onto him, full of people who wouldn't be afraid to turn their queer bashing up a couple of notches now they knew he didn't have a hulking middle-aged man to fight his battles for him.

He'd probably be beaten to death or something.

A chill ran through his body when he realised that he'd probably be fine with that. Let it happen. Let it end.

For now, though, he'd potter around the house he'd shared with his father, feeling as if he'd had something amputated even though he could still feel every one of his limbs aching with this hollow grief. He'd see the washing up lying in the sink as if everything was fine, an everyday sight that also happened to be the remains of his father's last meal. He'd see an unmade bed, clothes arranged for the next day (that was now four days ago), a few dirtied tools lying around from a half-fixed DIY job. Burt Hummel could just walk in through the door and his life would be waiting for him.

But there was, Kurt realised, nothing for it to wait for any more.

Kurt had tried to stop it, he really had. He'd kept his anti-Midas touch away from the hospital, only visiting once since his father had been admitted three days previously (when he really couldn't bare being alone any longer). It hadn't really helped, especially as his 'friends' from Glee Club had been there saying prayers with a Sikh when he'd finally summoned up the conviction to see his father for, he knew, the last time.

He couldn't even get time alone with him. Well, not more than ten minutes. And even then, a nurse was hovering and Mercedes was telling him he was being unreasonable and everyone at school was saying he _deserved_ all of this.

And suddenly he was angry. Fuck them all.

Before he knew it his foot was moving and the dresser was shaking. Kurt took a sick delight in watching the plates crash to the floor one by one, smiling as they broke into a thousand shards as they smashed on the terracotta floor. Then he knocked over a chair. And another. And then he flicked the lights off and on and off and on and off. And on. And off. Yes, he wanted it dark.

Finally silent and still, he heard the wind as it twisted itself mockingly around the trees outside, soothing the dead branches with the momentary comfort of a phantom embrace. At least the leaves would come back in the summertime, death to life. This was far more final.

A phone started ringing again, this time his cell. He fished it out of his pocket to see the beam of his nana's photo ID smiling up at him from Edinburgh. How dare she grin like that, inane and false-toothed? Before he knew it, the phone had splintered into a thousand pieces as it crashed into the floor. Its shattered screen turned a midnight blue before it faded to an unchangeable, permanent black.

With nowhere else to turn, Kurt walked over the smashed crockery and glass towards the back door. He felt the soles of his socks soak with blood before he'd detected even the slightest hint of pain, and it was not long until the drenched cotton started to squelch with every step. Before he really knew what was happening, he was testing the door that led out into the backyard. Finding it unlocked, he stepped out onto the concrete of the patio, red footprints soiling the pure white of its moonlit surface.

He moved further down the garden towards the tall bushes that separated the garden from the field beyond. The branches swayed slightly in the wind, their leaves glistening under the clear sky and glaring moonlight. Kurt followed the path until it expired, passing through the overgrown shrubbery without caring if it scratched his face. It didn't hurt.

And then he was in the farmer's field at the back of the house. At two thirty in the morning. The stumps of recently hewn wheat tickled as they pronged at his bleeding feet, aggravating those screaming terracotta wounds.

And, ignoring the pain, he walked.

And walked.

And before long he had made it to the middle of the field where there was a single tree, hunched over under the moon's scrutinising beams. It seemed apologetic for its very existence, a sore thumb in an otherwise flat and uniform field of cut grain. Kurt cast his eyes over its gnarled bark and twisted roots before turning back to look at the house, which was by now little more than a faint yellow glow glimmering somewhere in the distance.

This must be it, he realised, the end of his tether.

Exhausted, he collapsed against the tree, sliding down against its tough bark until he was seated between two twisting roots, aching so much he just wanted it all to end, desperately, right here, right now.

There was stillness, everything held in a kind of ghostly suspension.

No owls.

No wind.

Not even the slightest breeze.

It wasn't even that cold for September.

He closed his eyes.

And something moved.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something on the other side of the tree, Kurt was sure of it. His legs robotically twitched into action as they hauled his torso up from the ground, his body ready to save itself even if his heart wasn't quite in it. Seeing a shadow, he began running, five metres, ten metres, feet searing and heart throbbing, twenty…

"Wait."

Something about the tone of voice stopped Kurt right in his tracks, desperate and in pain. So he turned back slowly and there he saw it, or rather _him_, a dark figure hunched against the curve of the tree trunk. The opposite side from where he'd been sitting.

Kurt's breath hitched but something stopped him from running away. Instead, he found himself walking back towards the tree, compelled by nothing more than an ache for someone, anyone, to save him from himself. Anyone who could rid him of the gnawing emptiness that was tearing at him from the inside.

The figure got up, a shadow rising to meet him, and they gravitated towards each other. Two spectres in the night.

And as he got closer, Kurt saw two big brown eyes, sparkling in the moonlight.

It was a boy. A boy around his age, with a mop of curly hair flowing out from under the hood of an unzipped black sweater. Kurt's eyes raked habitually over the rest of his outfit, quickly taking stock of the close-fitting purple t-shirt that he'd paired with tight black jeans.

Not bad.

Not that Kurt cared.

And still they kept moving towards each other, like the antipodes of two magnets, until they were standing eye to eye, nose to nose.

Lips to lips.

"You want to?"

Kurt's eyes widened.

"Want what?"

"Me?"

Kurt's breath hitched. "_What?_"

The boy's face twisted into a smirk, knowing that Kurt knew full well what he meant.

"Why not?"

Kurt tried to check himself. He was pretty sure that this, this was an offer of sex. In this field. Under the cover of darkness with no one knowing where he was or whether he was safe. That was the situation. It was dangerous.

And his head was telling him to get out. Run away to the house where things were safe and warm and… lonely. But his body, it ached for touch, any touch. He just wanted… something… He wasn't even sure any more.

"I'll take good care of you, promise," the boy said softly, his eyes impossibly bright in the darkness. He took a step closer to Kurt. "You're gorgeous."

Kurt knew he looked like shit. He was told so every day, that he was fat and faggy and that he'd be a virgin forever.

"I want you."

Why was he even thinking about this? This was a complete _stranger_. The boy could have any number of nasty infections, especially given his obvious predilection for cruising late at night. Besides, a field of grain was nothing like the dewy lilacs he'd always envisaged for his first time. No, this wasn't a good idea, not now, not today.

He took a breath before shaking his head vigorously.

"C'mon, it's not a big deal," the boy whined, pulling his face a few centimetres away.

"But I don't know you."

Kurt felt the boy look intensely into his eyes. It felt as he was drilling through his brain right to the back of his skull.

"Then why are you here?" he asked, "Why? You wouldn't be here if you weren't looking for something. Or waiting for some_one_."

Kurt just moved his foot around in the dirt for a bit, ignoring the niggling pain of grit working its way into his wounds.

"I'm not looking for anything."

"Yes you are," the boy replied, his searching gaze not faltering for a second, "I can tell. Look, I don't know you, you don't know me. It'll just be a one off thing and you'll never see me again, I promise." His eyes glinted mischievously. "You just look like you could do with a good, you know… fuck."

A hand found its way onto Kurt's face. Kurt found himself leaning into it, almost unthinkingly.

"And you're really hot."

Kurt knew he probably wouldn't even be around this time next week anyway. He'd already thought about it, planned it enough times to know exactly how he'd end it all. He was numb to the reality of it, that one day soon he could and would cease to be. Maybe doing this one last thing would make him feel at least a little bit alive, maybe it'd make him feel _something_, if only for a single second. His skin was already sparking under the boy's touch, a flicker of an unfamiliar something that wasn't painful that made his mind race and his cheeks tingle. Yes, this, this would be his final adieu to this suckish world. He would never have gotten the dewy lilacs anyway; nice things like that just didn't happen to him. He'd never fall in requited love.

Lips met, sloppy and wet. Almost unthinkingly.

At first it was kind of slow and messy as their lips crashed once, twice, three times, Kurt's clumsy inexperience making itself known.

Not that the boy seemed to care. His hands were everywhere, first skimming over Kurt's shoulders and down his sides before moving to take a firm grip of his ass. Then he moved one hand up again and then around his hip and then down, down and… yep, that was his dick. The boy's hand was flat against it over his pants, palming lightly.

Kurt squeaked involuntarily as the gropes grew more insistent, and the boy laughed against his lips. A pang of self-consciousness rippled through Kurt's body for a second but he soon recovered, his hands blindly reaching up, around, anywhere, until they finally found purchase on the boy's hood. He peeled it back and immediately threaded his hands through the curls that emerged, twisting them around his fingers. Still kissing him, he brought his hands around each side of the boy's face, feeling the metal of the two black rings in the lobes of each of his ears as well as the industrial piercing that cut across his left.

The boy groaned.

"Mmmm… it's been a long time since I've done a virgin. Especially _here_."

Kurt froze, embarrassed that it was that obvious.

"Is it okay?" he asked in little more than a whisper.

The boy just smirked again before going back to mouthing at Kurt's neck.

"It's kinda hot actually," he eventually whispered, "And I'm sure the situation will find a way of resolving itself pretty soon."

With that, he thrust his hips up hard to meet Kurt's. Kurt's breath caught in his throat, his eyes filling with tears because he couldn't really deal with this _at all _but he couldn't bring himself to leave either because this boy was with him and liked him enough to be doing _this_ and his mouth was everywhere and…

The boy did it again before bringing his arms up and around Kurt's shoulders, moving his face so they were staring eye to eye.

"So, wanna fuck?"

He said it as if it was the most straightforward thing in the world.

Kurt didn't move.

"There's nothing to be scared of, it's only me. And we'll be safe, I promise."

And it _was_ only him. Kurt'd probably never see him again anyway, and the pallid moonlight would distort their features to make them look more like dusty spectres than teenage boys. They were just two ghosts milling around this godforsaken field. He had nothing to lose. Except… well…

"So?"

Kurt took a deep breath as he gave a slight nod of consent, and the boy's face immediately lit up with a wide, bright smile.

"Very good." His eyes ran down Kurt's shivering body and up again. "Nervous?"

Kurt shook his head.

"What do you want?"

Kurt shrugged.

The boy leaned in again, kissing Kurt's mouth and neck before settling his mouth on his ear. His hands gripped the front of Kurt's button-down as he leant in to whisper one final question.

"Do you know what to do?"

Kurt's non-response said it all.

The boy lapped at his ear, and then he said it.

"I'll do it, then. I'll look after you."

Kurt's chest surged as the boy's hands fell around his neck to bring their lips crashing together once more. Teeth clinked and hands were everywhere, and Kurt's head was pulsing just enough to distract him from everything else. And when he closed his eyes and zoned out a bit, his life really didn't feel that suckish at all. Yeah, he was losing his virginity to a total hoebag. But that didn't alter the fact that he was _losing his virginity_, something he'd never thought would happen to an fugly shit like him.

"Take off your clothes."

It was a murmur whispered right into Kurt's ear, gone as soon as it came as the boy pulled away to shrug off own hoodie and t-shirt up before reaching out to grab Kurt's shirt.

"McQueen?" he purred, looking at the garment. "Two seasons old but you're still working it. I'm sure it'll look even better when you've taken it off." He laughed. "Sorry, that was cheesy."

Glowing under the approval, no matter how biased it was, Kurt removed the shirt like it was on fire. He scurried over towards the tree, hanging it on one of the lower branches. The urge to cover his puppy fat was unreal and he paused for a while with his back to the boy, but then he remembered that he was about to see a hell of a lot more of him so he'd sure as hell better get used to it right now. What did it matter, anyway? Loads of people would see him naked when he was dead.

He turned back, forcing himself to face the boy head on as they faced each other, as if in confrontation.

They stood as mirrored opposites, hands gravitating towards belt buckles.

"All off at once?" Kurt whispered into the air.

The boy nodded. "At once."

And they stripped themselves off, and Kurt was suddenly naked by an old tree in the middle of a field of grain, facing an equally naked, equally hard boy. This was _not _how he'd expected this to go. At all. But he knew he wouldn't turn back now. He didn't deserve anything better.

"Come here."

The boy spread out his arms and Kurt gravitated towards the embrace. Somehow he'd expected him to be all over him immediately but it seemed that clothlessness set a benchmark that needed a whole new set of permissions. Kurt whimpered as one hand threaded its way into his hair while its partner wound its way around his hip, moaning as the boy brought their bodies tantalising closer, closer, closer, until they were just centimetres apart.

And then he stopped.

It took Kurt a moment to realise that this was the last turning point. The boy was giving him one last chance to back out.

He took a deep breath before giving a decisive nod. The boy moaned in response as he latched on to Kurt's jaw and brought their bodies together, skin meeting skin, hips meeting hips, cocks meeting cocks.

And then the boy stopped again. Kurt's heart was in his throat, worried that he'd done something wrong already or disappointed the guy or –

"I have one condition," the boy said, biting his lip.

Kurt nodded feverishly. He'd do anything, anything to keep this going, anything to stop him from _feeling_.

"I want to know your name."

"Why?"

The boy looked at him with a glint in his eye.

"Because then I'll know what name to scream. Also, it seems a bit strange that I'd know everything about your body but nothing about _you_, don't you think?"

Kurt took a breath. "It's Kurt."

Kurt didn't even know why he'd told the truth. He just kind of felt like he owed it to the guy. And maybe it'd make them seem a little less like strangers.

The boy smiled as he repeated the name, testing it on his tongue.

"What's yours?"

The boy laughed.

"We both know that wasn't part of the bargain, don't we _Kurt_?"

And then he thrust upwards in a decisive stroke that made Kurt too lost to care.

* * *

The boy had rubbed Kurt's lower back as he'd unceremoniously pulled out after it was all over, whispering inconsequential nothings as Kurt winced in discomfort. The whole thing had been pretty uncomfortable, really. Then they'd put their boxers and shirts back on and they were now sitting with their backs against the tree, huddled together in the moonlight. Kurt felt a breath travel to the nape of his neck as a gentle kiss was placed right at the centre, and strong hands stroked over his shoulder blades and across his back.

Kurt closed his eyes as the lips returned to his ear, mouthing softly at the lobe as if speaking a language all of their own.

And then a voice. A hushed whisper. Right in his ear.

"Why are you here, Kurt?"

He took a breath, knowing he was about to kill every one of the lingering sparks between them. But he couldn't hold back. The boy's presence and smell and touch were overwhelming him and something just made him burst and -

"My father died today. I went out for a walk and… there you were."

The boy's breath hitched.

"I'm sorry." That was what everyone said when someone died. Kurt was already fed up with it.

"Fuck off, it won't help anything," he muttered.

"No, not I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_."

"What?"

"Kurt, I took your virginity on the worst day of your life. That's kinda bad."

"I agreed to it. It was fine."

They sat in silence for a while.

"How's your mom doing?"

"She's dead too. Died when I was eight."

The boy winced as he gave a single nod. They sat in silence for several moments.

"So when did you decide you were going to kill yourself?" His voice was alarmingly conversational, not accusatory at all.

Kurt's eyes grew wide as he looked over the boy's face, taking in the brown eyes that seemed to bubble with their own thousand troubles. It was strange seeing them so sincere and true.

"What?" It came out guiltily, in a single breath.

The boy ignored him, latching his eyes onto Kurt's.

"Kurt, promise me you won't do it."

"Why? Everyone I know either hates me, lives in Scotland or is dead."

"I don't hate you."

"You don't know me."

"I know more than you think. You're Kurt. You keep looking over at that house, so I'm guessing you live there or have been staying there. You're from Lima. You're a fast learner, judging from… well… and you've got a great body and a perfect face and everything going for you."

Kurt's breath hitched at the compliments even as his mind refused to accept any of them.

Kurt nodded slightly before whispering, "Will you tell me your name now?"

The boy just shook his head. Kurt suddenly felt very hurt, and a sense of impending loss spread through his body as he realised that when this boy went away, he really would have no one. Certainly no one who would _understand_.

"But I want to find you again. You're the only… you're the only other person I've met who's like me. I don't know any other gay people. Why won't you tell me your name?" He cringed at how desperate he sounded.

"No one knows this side of me, Kurt. No one."

"They don't know you're gay?"

The boy laughed humourlessly.

"Oh, they do. They just don't know that I'm… here. I don't want people from the field to follow me into my day life or vice versa, no matter how nice anyone seems. Kurt, this field here, this is where gay people in Lima come to get laid. Anonymous sex, nothing more, nothing less. That's all, that's it."

Kurt shook his head, trying not to cry. Though he'd liked the thought of anonymity half an hour ago, now he wanted this boy to listen and understand and tell him stuff and stop him from being alone all the goddamn time.

But that wasn't going to happen.

"We can't see each other, Kurt. Never again, unless you happen to be here and I happen to be here."

"Don't you trust me?"

A sharp, empty laugh escaped from the boy's lips. "I don't trust anyone."

He took a deep breath as he stood up, dusting his hands off as if he'd just completed a completely mundane task.

"Let's get you to bed. I'll carry you if you want. Your feet look like shit."

Kurt nodded, knowing that movement probably wouldn't be all that comfortable even if he _did _have the energy. The boy hoisted him high on his shoulders, carrying him across the field of grain.

And the next thing he knew, it was light and he was awake in his own bed and it was nine o'clock in the morning.

And he had bandages on his feet.

And a twig in his hair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

Kurt decided not to bother with school that morning. He lay in bed all day, numb to the bone with everything that had happened. Every now and then he'd cast his eyes around his room: his dresser, his wardrobe, his bed and his cushions. All there like they'd always been, mockingly normal in the wake of the events of the past few days. He knew it'd all disappear once the authorities found out. He was sixteen after all, they don't just leave sixteen year olds to fend for themselves.

Sure enough, the phone next to his bed rang once at two, once at four and once at five. He answered it each time, out of habit more than anything else.

The first time, it had been Mona from the Coroner's Office. There'd be someone round that evening, she'd said.

The second time it was Mona again, asking whether he knew who his legal guardian was.

The third time, the caller had hung up right after he'd said, "Hello, Kurt Hummel speaking." Must have had the wrong number. Fucking cretin.

Some interminable amount of time after that, Kurt fell into a dreamless sleep as he waited for the inevitable knock on the door. The death knell. He waited for it, lying on his bed listening to Judy Garland. It seemed an elegant enough way to go down.

The doorbell rang at nine thirty that night. It was a relief in the end, not having to wait. Not that it mattered what they'd say, really. He just needed to collect enough energy to die.

"So Kurt," Charlotte the fake smiley lady said as she sat down in Burt's chair, "First of all, I'm terribly, terribly sorry for your loss."

Kurt nodded, hating her more by the second.

"Now, we need to fix up some awesome new living arrangements for you. It's totally your choice where you go. What we normally suggest is that you maybe find a relative to stay with temporarily. Do you have any relatives in Ohio?"

Kurt shook his head.

"What about in the US as a whole?"

"I only have my nana, and she lives in Scotland."

The lady nodded eagerly, scribbling on her gaudy hot pink pad of paper.

"Have you been able to speak to her since your father passed?" she chirruped.

Kurt shook his head, neglecting to mention the smashed up phone in the next room.

She continued to fill out the form, her face set in a permanent, lip-glossed grin.

Then she looked up at him.

"Okay, Kurt, what I'm going to do is suggest that you write your grandmother's number down here…" She jabbed at the paper with a finely manicured hand. "Child Protective Services will be in touch with her to see whether she can provide some guardianship at this time."

"So I have to go to Scotland? I thought you said you were giving me a choice." To Kurt's horror, what should have sounded angry instead came out as weak and defeated.

"It's certainly an option," said Charlotte, nodding inanely, "It's not usually one we pursue but you are an unusual case. But we need an even more temporary solution. Do you have any friends in the area?"

Kurt sighed, too tired to fight right now.

"Mercedes. She lives three blocks away."

Charlotte's vacuous grin grew impossibly wider.

"Have you asked whether you can stay with her?"

Kurt shook his head, unsure that Mercedes wanted anything to do with him after the Sikh incident.

"Okay, well I'll just give the Joneses a call and we'll see if you can stay there for a few nights. Sound good?"

"It doesn't matter whether I say yes or no, does it?"

Charlotte's smile faltered, just for a second.

"I'll just call them now. Why don't you go upstairs and pack a small going-away bag?"

Kurt cursed her for making it seem like he was going on some kind of exciting vacation. He knew what she was doing: the bag had to be small to make him feel like he would come back home someday, like it was all less final than it truly was. But it was all a pile of stinking shit and he could smell it a mile off.

He chose the biggest rucksack he could find just to spite Charlotte, fishing out everything he thought he could ever conceivably need. Keys. Toothbrush. Floss. Skincare products. Hair products. Socks. Underwear. A few essential clothes, and then some signature pieces for when the time came. An extra pair of shoes. All the money he could lay his hands on.

And razor blades. Even though he didn't shave yet.

He put on three layers, just to maximise his range of garments for the most important outfit he'd ever choose.

And then he bade a quick farewell to his room, trying hard not to think about it too much as he tramped down the stairs one last time.

* * *

Charlotte was waiting for him in the kitchen, tap tapping her fingers against that old table. She beamed at him, all teeth, as he entered, evidently not realising that her very presence made the aching absence of his father all the more painful. She looked through him as she began to speak.

"The Joneses said you could stay for a while. They were shocked to hear of your father's death. Why didn't you tell anyone, Kyle?"

Kurt just shrugged.

"Whatever. Just come and hop in the car and I'll drive you over to the Jones's. Come on, it'll be fun to have a girly sleepover with Mercado, right?"

Kurt felt like screaming in her face.

Instead, he grumbled something about not being a girl that did no damage at all to Charlotte's easy smile. He was too tired to argue right now. He was too tired to do anything at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

**A/N Chapter 3 was also published today so do take a look there first if you haven't already :)  
**

* * *

If Kurt had thought the numbness was hell, the realisation that his father would never be coming back was ten million times worse. He really didn't know why this came as a surprise: he had, after all, been through the whole Kübler-Ross model of grief when his mom had died, pushed through the mincer of denial and anger and depression until he was finally, painfully squeezed out into the land of bittersweet acceptance.

It was more sudden this time, though. When he was eight, the realisation that his mom had gone had come in a series of clues: her coat being taken off the hook and put away in a cupboard; undercooked chicken for dinner; a sad man, a shadow of his father, rattling around their once-lively family home. It was never just one moment.

But this time, he could pinpoint the exact second when he'd truly realised his father wasdead. Gone. He'd been lying in the Jones' guest room at six in the morning, staring gormlessly at the cheery yellow walls with their framed pictures of farmyard scenes and thinking about nothing in particular in the way people do when they've just woken up.

Confused as to why he wasn't in his own room, he'd asked himself, _Why am I here? In Mercedes's guest room?_

And then he'd remembered. All at once without a single second of warning.

_Because dad's dead. You're never going home._

And that was it. The ceiling rained a ton of bricks.

* * *

School was a nightmare that first day back. Dr. and Mrs. Jones made him go, if only so they could be sure he'd be under the watchful eyes of Mercedes while they were out at work (Dr. Jones as a dentist, Mrs. Jones as a teacher). People looked, pointed and whispered. _That _kid, yeah, the gay one, he's an orphan now. A punishment from God. And then he'd been slushied and laughed at and shoved.

And then, after hearing about it all from a concerned Mercedes, Dr. and Mrs. Jones didn't think school was a good idea for him any more, at least not for now.

The evening of that single day back, Dr. Jones gave Kurt a free dental check up at the end of the working day, sighing as he told Kurt he'd need his wisdom teeth out. "You want them extracted now?" he'd asked, mainly because he was a dentist before he was a rational human being, "I have time and at least you'll be recovering when you'll be missing school anyways."

Kurt had nodded apathetically.

"What awful luck you're having," Dr. Jones had commented as he'd got the instruments ready. Kurt just shuddered as he saw syringe with the local anaesthetic approaching his face, hating every second spent in that chair with that not-quite fatherly body bent over him, so close yet so far.

It was supposed to be one of the most painful things ever, wisdom tooth extraction. But Kurt didn't feel a thing, not at first. He didn't even care when he went home (no, he corrected himself, to the _Jones's_) with half his face swollen up like a chipmunk. At least he got the next day off school.

And the next.

And the next.

And because the pain had become bearable, he began to stockpile the painkillers. He put them in an empty drinks bottle which he carried with him at all times, and before long he had amassed over twenty. He kept them in his bag, well away from prying eyes.

It was, after all, a lethal dose. A precious, precious exit pass.

But he had stuff to do, affairs to sort out. Kurt Hummel, no matter how broken, would be exiting this world with a bang, not a whimper. He could carry death around in his bag for as long as he damn well pleased.

So he planned the outfit. Planned and replanned and replanned again. He settled on his tight black jeans, his fitted blazer jacket and his pressed white shirt. He decided he'd put a picture of his mom in one pocket and a picture of his da – he forced himself to think of him – his _dad_ in the other, a kind tribute to them, morbid though it was.

Then he planned the location. It'd be the bathroom, not the most dignified place, but it'd be too difficult for anyone to help him if he incarcerated himself behind a locked door. Pragmatism always has a horrible habit of trumping decorum.

And then he'd planned the time. That was easy: school parents' night. Everyone would be out. It was practically an invitation.

Five more miserable days, four more miserable nights.

That was all. That was it.

* * *

Kurt knew his behaviour would have to seem completely normal so as not to rouse any suspicion. He went to back to school when the Joneses suggested it. He helped Maureen cook the dinner. He watched movies with Mercedes, telling her she was far nicer and more beautiful than any of the movie stars on the screen and meaning every word. He even went back to Glee, where everyone looked at him like he was a pitiable kicked puppy.

And, when he thought about it, he really was pitiable: nothing gave him joy any more. He was making the right decision.

* * *

On Thursday, the night before parents' evening, the night before everything would end once and for all, Maureen asked Kurt to go to the store at the end of the road. "Just pick up some garlic, that's all we need. I forgot to get it at the supermarket."

So Kurt went.

He walked down the street, a zombie waiting for that final shot to the head. The ultimate solution. He allowed himself to feel deliciously miserable, savouring its bitter taste on his tongue. It felt so good to be true to himself and how he felt; too bad it could only happen when he was away from everyone he knew.

The automatic doors creaked back as he entered the shop. Kurt heard the beep beep of the till, the confused babble of voices as kids tried to persuade their parents to buy them Double Stuf Oreos, the loud grumbles of disgruntled people in the long checkout queues.

What an unglamorous way to spend your final night on Earth.

But then his eyes settled. Settled on… curly hair, right by the cash register. Hands stuffing bread and tinned food and a glass bottle and… were they… yes, condoms, into a large backpack large enough to carry enough kit for a long jungle safari.

The guy turned around.

Eyes, sparkling golden-green, even under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Yeah. It was him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

It was _him_.

Kurt darted behind the meat refrigerator, unsure of what to do. The boy had expressly forbidden him from any contact outside the field, but there was this… this thing, this want, this_ need _to see him, to talk to him, to tie off some loose ends. To find out his name.

In truth, Kurt hadn't given much thought to that night in the field. It was something that had happened, yet another thing that had been lost along the way, something that just _was_ and always would be. Many things were like that. But something about seeing him again as he turned from the till towards the exit, hair wilder than ever and earrings glinting in the daylight, made him want to follow him.

So he did.

He kept a distance of about twenty metres, always mindful that the boy could turn back at any moment. He did look around every now and again, Kurt noticed, but mostly he just looked like a normal guy on a normal street in a normal town.

It was all surprisingly easy, when they were in the town at least. There was enough bustle to keep Kurt disguised, and there were walls and buildings and dumpsters he could hide behind should he have the need.

But the boy just kept walking on the road that led right out of Lima, away from the nooks and crannies and noises of urbanity. His speed increased as he paced paced paced away from those last few outlying buildings, and before long Kurt was jogging slightly to keep up with him.

Kurt was beginning to gasp for breath when, suddenly and without warning, the boy turned. And they were facing each other head-on, only separated by twenty metres of tarmac.

Unmitigated fear flooded over the boy's face as he realised he had indeed been followed, but it soon drained away to leave something that looked somewhere between anger and –

Kurt didn't wait to figure it out. He darted, running over the flat farmland away from the boy. He ran and ran towards the trees, not knowing where he was besides the fact that the town was several miles in the opposite direction. His shoulder bag knocked against his legs as his speed increased and eventually he just tossed it aside, willing to sacrifice anything to escape the boy and his angry face. He kept running, through the thick shrubbery and into the trees, his heart throbbing with the pain of being alive. His lungs ached as he gasped for breath, and he felt the beginnings of an asthma attack as his chest tightened until it was all but impossible for him to take in the air he needed. He backed up against a tree, leaning on it as he panted, trying to gather the wherewithal to reach into his bag for his inhaler in –

The bag… It was in the field… About 300 metres away now.

He felt like he was going to die. His chest was impossibly tight and he couldn't get the air down at all. It was just – His eyes blurred.

A branch snapped from somewhere in the forest. Kurt's breath hitched involuntarily and before long he was hunched double in a coughing fit. His vision shook as if he was in the middle of an earthquake, and his eyes filled with tears.

He became aware of panting breaths. Panting breaths that weren't his own.

And when his streaming eyes finally cleared, he looked up to find an extended arm right in front of him, holding something out for him… ah, thank God, his inhaler.

Without a word, he grabbed at the blue plastic. Somehow his screaming mind calmed a bit as he brought the inhaler to his lips in the procedure he'd learnt from his mom when he was five years old. Without thinking he took the long breath out, and then began the slow breath in as he pressed the inhaler down so he could breathe the medicine in.

His chest began to relax and his mind began to clear. He looked up.

And the boy, _that _boy, was standing right in front of him with an expression of abject terror plastered over his face.

"Don't worry," Kurt eventually managed, chest heaving, "Happens all the time. 'M fine."

"Oh god, Kurt," the boy whispered, "I've never seen anyone have an asthma attack that bad before."

Kurt just shrugged. "Used… to it… I'll be fine…" There was silence as he took several more puffs of his inhaler. When his lungs finally felt as if they weren't burning up in the heat of a thousand suns, he looked up to meet the boy's concerned gaze. "Sorry… I followed you," he whispered. "I just… I just saw you and I wanted to talk to you. I don't know why… God I'm such an idiot –"

The boy waved his hand in the air, silently interrupting him.

"Kurt, stop. Just sit down with me and listen to what I'm going to say." He spoke eloquently in deep, measured tones as the two of them sat back against the tree. His voice sounded completely different from how Kurt remembered it.

"Okay, just… okay. Right. Let's get level, here, okay?" the boy continued. He looked into Kurt's eyes. "I know about your little secret pill stash, I found it in your bag. And you know about my… nocturnal habits. And now we've met during the day. On an important day for both of us."

Kurt gulped.

"You're so close to killing yourself that you've practically got rigor mortis and a tag on your toe already." Kurt stared at the ground. "And me, I'm leaving Ohio. Now. Forever. There, I said it. You probably guessed anyway but now you know."

Kurt's eyes widened as he looked back up at him. The boy was panting into the silence as if he'd made the most exhilarating declaration of his life.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh…" the boy said, suddenly a bit embarrassed as he looked down at the floor. "New York," he eventually whispered, "I'm walking from here to New York. Just because."

Kurt nodded as if it wasn't a completely crazy thing to do. The boy visibly relaxed.

"I've always wanted to go to New York," Kurt said absently, picking at a twig with his fingers. "You know, bucket list stuff. I wanted to do the whole Broadway thing for the longest time."

"Why don't you do it, then?"

Kurt gave him a withering look. "You can't sing when you're dead."

At that, the boy spluttered a bit. "Fuck, you really are close to doing it." He stood up abruptly, plucking the shoulder bag up off the ground and running with it until he was only just within Kurt's line of sight. Kurt tried to move after him, tried to haul his screaming body off the ground, but he was too tired to follow, his lungs still recovering and his chest still tight. He yelled at the boy to stop, STOP, **STOP** because those pills had taken an absolute age to amass, but he was helpless. He was helpless most of the time.

Kurt's desperate cries didn't make the boy flinch in the slightest, and he continued what he was doing as if he hadn't heard him at all. Kurt watched, horrified, as he took the drinks bottle out of the bag and turned it upside down. The pills splashed into the water of the small stream, down down down until there was none left.

He returned with a grim expression on his face.

"I threw all the pills into the creek over there, they're gone," he explained needlessly. "You know why I had to do it, right?"

Kurt nodded slightly, his chest aching with empty despair now that he had no exit strategy. And yet he had no energy to be angry with the boy. What's done is done.

"Where did you even get them from anyway?" The boy asked.

"Wisdom tooth extraction."

"Holy shit."

"Pretty much."

And after that the two of them sat in silence, Kurt watching as the boy's fingers came up to toy with the rings in his left ear. Kurt absently noticed that he'd had another ring pierced into the left lobe, a small purple hoop that stood out against his tanned skin.

"So what are you going to do now?" the boy eventually asked, breaking the silence.

Kurt shrugged. "Don't know," he murmured, "Find another way."

The boy stared into space a while, thinking.

"Come with me," he eventually murmured, all in one breath.

Silence hung in the air as the boy bit his lip, staring at Kurt expectantly with wide, brown eyes. He looked a lot younger in the light of day, fresh faced and naïve.

"What?"

"Come with me. To New York."

Kurt didn't want to go, why would he? But no pills. And months at the Jones's. And no dad. And maybe… But this guy wasn't to be trusted. Sure he'd had sex with him and he looked innocuous enough but he didn't _know_ him. What happened if he was a psychopath on a murderous rampage or –

It wasn't really much of a risk, he concluded; he'd most likely end up dead whatever route he chose, and New York would be far more glamorous than a poky old Lima bathroom. The universe was against him, there was nothing he could do about it, but he could stop it for a week or two. He could.

"How long will it take you to walk to there?" he found himself asking.

The boy twisted his fingers together, a small smile twitching at his lips. "About three weeks or so," he replied. "Maybe a little longer. Depends on the pace."

Kurt gulped. Three weeks seemed an appallingly long time to be alive.

"I don't have any stuff," he said, "I only have what's in my bag."

"It's fine," the boy replied, "I'm guessing you have money at least."

Kurt immediately regretted splurging on the new Vivienne Westwood coat he was now never going to wear. "Not much," he replied, shaking his head, "My inheri… my inheritance hasn't come through and my current account is pretty much empty."

The boy nodded.

"I have money," he replied simply. "Not a lot, but enough to get us by. You can pay me back at some point so it's not like I'm treating you like a charity or whatever. And we can share my sleeping bag and food and stuff for now."

Kurt raised his eyebrows at the offer.

"Oh!" the boy exclaimed, "Unless sharing… unless sharing makes you feel uncomfortable or something."

Kurt snorted to hide his discomfort.

"Right," the boy murmured as a small smile broke out across his face, "We did have sex. Why would it be any weirder than that?" The smile shrank back as soon as he said it, realising how it might have come across. "But Kurt, don't think I've asked you to come with me so I can… you know… have an endless supply of… you know, I just… I just want to make sure you're safe. I've… I've been thinking about you, you know. I even called your house… the day after… as soon as I had some spare change for the connection charge on the payphone. But then you were gone the next time I tried."

"Yeah," Kurt said, "I moved in with my friend. Temporarily."

"And you're not happy there," he said, looking deep into Kurt's eyes.

Kurt just shook his head. "No. They're nice enough, but they don't _understand_. And they're really overbearing and they make me go to my shithole school where people aren't so nice, you know? I hate my school."

"I know," said the boy. "But just so you know, I plan on getting my diploma as soon as I rock up in New York. Stupid not to. School's not over for either of us."

"Right," said Kurt. "I never really thought that far ahead. Um. Yeah."

The boy nodded sadly, and they sat in companionable silence for a moment. But then Kurt stirred, disturbed by one final part of the puzzle.

"Are you absolutely sure, I mean, _sure_, that I can come with you? I don't want to be a burden or a hassle or, you know, have you worried about me or –"

The boy interrupted him by just sticking his hand out, one half of a handshake. Kurt backed away slightly, surprised by the formality of the gesture, before he took the boy's hand in his own. It was shockingly intimate in its own funny way.

"It's nice to meet you, Kurt," the boy said with a charming twinkle in his eye. "My name is Blaine."

It took a moment for Kurt to realise what had been said, what had been _done_.

Because this was them meeting for the first time, in the daytime when everything holds more clarity and more truth. This was the boy, Blaine, _trusting_ him.

They smiled at each other for a moment, hand in hand. Blaine's smile had changed since the handshake, Kurt noticed: it looked less guarded, more silly. More like the teenager Kurt guessed he was. They stared at each other as their hands slipped apart.

"Your phone still have battery power?" Blaine finally asked, disturbing the film-fine air.

Kurt reached into his bag, woke up the screen and nodded.

"Call your friend's parents, tell them you've gone home for a few days, and then we'll go."

Kurt tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke to Maureen. "… Yes, sorry, yes, I just walked past my house on the way to getting garlic and I… yes, Maureen, I'm _fine_, I just want to be in the house for a couple of days, just try to get my head together… yes, you can come round in the morning?"

Blaine shook his head frantically.

"No, not in the morning," Kurt stumbled, "No, come round… come round in a week. I'll call you later. Enjoy your dinner… No, please don't do that, please don't call –"

Kurt brought the phone back down from his ear.

"She hung up," he murmured sadly. "She's onto me and she's calling the cops. They'll find the house empty and… I… I guess they'll come looking for me."

"Shit," Blaine said. "They'll trace the call. Turn your phone off, that way they can't watch it. We're going to walk further into the forest, okay? We're at a random spot, quite far out and away from the road, you'll be like a needle in a haystack to them. As long as we move even further tomorrow, we'll be fine."

And they set off, simple as that.

The light faded as they went deeper into the forest, picking their way with the light from Blaine's powerful wind-up flashlight. It cast a warm glow over the tree trunks as it illuminated all the roots and branches that stuck up from the forest floor. Neither of them tripped once.

They were moving quite quickly, all things considered.

They reached the edge of a clearing about two hours later. The branches above their heads thinned, and Kurt looked up to see that the sky was completely clear and twinkling with the light of a million shining stars. Two owls hooted somewhere in the distance, their low twit-twoos filling the chilly night air.

They walked to the centre of the clearing and Blaine reached into his backpack to retrieve a small camp stove. He struck a match, lighting the cooker before placing a tin of beef over it. Kurt immediately huddled up to the combined warmth of Blaine and the stove, too cold to ask for permission.

"Hey," Blaine murmured as he stirred the food, "Do you want to get into the sleeping bag? It'll warm you up."

Kurt nodded, his teeth chattering.

"Okay, it's just in… Yeah, that's it."

And Blaine was right, the sleeping bag _was _really warm. It was clearly a high-spec piece of kit, though Kurt could see that it was already rather war torn from heavy use.

"I'll put the tent up. Just stir the food, okay? The tent shouldn't be too difficult, it'd just be easier if it were daytime."

At that, Kurt shone the torch towards Blaine who grinned back. He watched as this strange boy produced a small bag from the larger rucksack. He could just make out the shape of skilful fingers as they fixed the metal frame together with practiced virtuosity.

Ten minutes later, the one man tent was up and ready for use. Seeing it brought it home for Kurt, where he was and what he had done. What he had _chosen_. He could scarcely believe how he'd come to be here, now, with Blaine, so close yet so far from everything he'd ever known. But something about the guy was comforting in a way the overbearing Joneses could never be. Maybe it was those kind eyes, or perhaps his practical manner which reminded him so much of his fath – his dad. Or maybe it was just getting out of Lima and McKinley and running away from life.

Before long, Blaine came ambling back to where Kurt was sitting over the stove. He sniffed the air exaggeratedly as he approached, pretending that the stench of broiled beef was the most appetising thing ever to pass into his nostrils.

"So, my fellow campeur," he began in a mock French accent that made Kurt smile, "I fink dinneur eeeez ready." He leant right over Kurt, slopping the food out into two bowls. "Bon appétit." Kurt giggled as he saw Blaine kiss his own fingers in the manner of a vrai chef.

And there it was, his first laugh since, well, everything.

"Ah," Blaine continued, snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a huge smile on his face, "C'est extremmement delicieux."

And, weirdly, he was right. Kurt didn't know what had happened to his taste buds or his sense of smell or even his basic standards of food hygiene, but it was truly one of the best meals he'd ever tasted.

They chatted for an hour about silly things, their favourite animals, their favourite movies, their favourite singers. They really were quite alarmingly similar, which, Kurt supposed, was just as well. And then, after Kurt had appropriated Blaine's spare toothbrush, he washed his mouth out with salt and water; the last thing he wanted was an infection in his gum where the tooth had been extracted, even though it was now almost completely healed. Blaine also made a salt/water mix, and Kurt watched with interest as he dipped a cotton bud in it, which he then lifted to his left ear to clean the piercing.

"Does it hurt?" Kurt asked.

Blaine looked up at him mid-task, his hands stilling on his ear.

"What?"

"The piercing. Does it hurt?"

Blaine shrugged. "Not really. I do them myself."

"Oh."

"Well, I didn't do the industrial, I paid for that. That one's just there to make me look badass." He threw Kurt a cheeky grin.

"It's failing," Kurt said automatically, biting his lip as soon as he'd said it because he didn't know whether they'd reached the stage where they could tease each other.

Blaine barked out a laugh. "It's worth a try, though. It _should_make me look hardcore considering it hurt like an absolute bitch. Probably cuz it's the only one I didn't do. My mother went batshit crazy when she… yeah."

Blaine drifted off and Kurt knew better than to pursue it. Instead, he watched as Blaine's fingers slowly pushed the purple ring back and forth, methodically working the salt solution into the wound.

After he was done, Blaine stretched his arms out wide and let out a massive yawn.

"Let's go to bed," he said. "Time to get crazy cosy."

Kurt's heart sped up with trepidation. He decided honesty would be the best policy.

"Um, Blaine, I've never… you know… never shared a bed before… much less a sleeping bag… so I, um, apologise for any awkwardness right now."

Blaine smiled. "Don't worry! It'll be really fun! I've never shared a bed either… well, not to _sleep _in, anyway." He giggled, the rugged camper instantaneously turning into the teenager that truly lurked beneath it all. "C'mon, let's get changed. You can borrow one of my t-shirts and my – um – boxers."

Kurt couldn't help but look a little disgusted.

"They're clean, I swear!" Blaine protested, wiggling his pants and boxers down his hips before reaching up to take off his hoodie and t-shirt. Even more unabashed than he was stark naked, he fished around in his bag for a while, eventually producing a sponge onto which he poured a bottle of water he'd collected from the stream. He flinched as he ran it over his body, and practically leapt into the boxers and t-shirt he'd set out on the ground once he was done in a desperate attempt to get warm.

"Your turn," he said, grinning.

Kurt reddened and Blaine laughed. "Kurt, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

Kurt's eyes didn't shift from where they were inspecting each and every speck of dust on the ground.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be joking about this, oh god –" Blaine blathered.

Kurt gave him one of his _looks _in return before responding with an abrupt, "Shut up, Blaine. Get in the tent."

And, much to Kurt's surprise, he obediently followed the order.

* * *

After getting settled, Blaine lay there for a while under the green canvas, waiting for his new… companion… to join him. Sure enough, a slightly cold, damp Kurt slid in about two minutes later, groaning as he tried to origami-fy his lithe frame so it would fit into the already full tent. The sleeping bag was yet more of a struggle, and Blaine giggled as Kurt awkwardly shifted against him, trying to manoeuvre himself so they could close the zip. Before long they were collapsed in heaps of unabashed laughter, the two-part filling of a gaping sleeping bag sandwich.

"I think that's the best we're gonna manage," Blaine said, reaching up to zip the tent closed.

"Mmm," Kurt replied, already dozing off against Blaine's warm body.

"See you tomorrow," Blaine whispered, reaching up to stroke Kurt's hair but thinking better of it at the last second.

"N-night."

They fell asleep more easily than either of them had in days, surrounded by the sounds of the gusting wind, the nocturnal forest and the sleepy sounds of the other's breathing. Minds, for the first time in days, empty and free.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

The relative euphoria of the previous night wore off as soon as Kurt flicked his eyes open the next morning. His bones ached from sleeping on top of Blaine's bony body, the tent was damp with condensation and… oh, right, his dad was still dead. He heaved himself up, ignoring the teenage grunts of his tentmate, and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting kind of long and was holding grease like no one's business – but Kurt didn't want to even begin to contemplate what it would look like with no trace of product at all right now.

"Dyou wanna shower first or shall I?" The sack of bones grunted.

"Shower?" Kurt asked, smiling as he blearily envisaged the multi-setting power shower he had at home.

Blaine laughed. "If you've got any hopes of there being some kind of heated waterfall around here like you see in shampoo commercials, think again. You stand up, I pour freezing water over your hair, done and dusted."

Kurt groaned. "Okay, I'll go first," he said, "I don't want to get put off by witnessing your suffering."

"Very well," said Blaine, "You've accepted your fate." He laughed a bit, as people do when they have experience of an unpleasant but ultimately harmless thing that another person is about to face for the first time.

"I suppose I should move," Kurt lamented. "Even though this tent is stickier than a rainforest full of humidifiers, I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot worse."

Blaine laughed again. "It's better than smelling, though."

Kurt sniffed. "My body carries no natural odour, thank you very much."

Blaine giggled again. He was laughing at everything. Kurt supposed they were so desperate they kind of had to.

After much postponement they scrambled out of the tent, groaning as their thinly-clad skin was exposed to the chilly morning air for the first time. Legs straightened and bones clicked, and soon they were shivering together in the misty yellow morning.

Blaine bent down and picked up the bottle of water he'd left outside. It was a litre capacity, probably not enough to do as thorough hair wash as Kurt would wish and definitely not enough for the two of them.

"Uh, Blaine, how are we going to do this?"

"Oh," Blaine responded immediately, "Usually I just wash my hair with shampoo if I have it or without it if not, then I do a quick sponge bath with... the sponge. Obviously. But it'll be so much easier now there are two of us because I can never quite reach a spot on the back of my head and it'll be great to be able to scrub _and_ pour at the –"

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"No, Blaine, that's not what I meant. Do I have to… uh… do I have to take my clothes off?"

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Well I guess you don't _have _to, I tend to though because otherwise I'd have to carry wet clothes around with me and they might go mouldy or whatever."

Kurt twitched in discomfort. Even though he'd obviously been naked outside with Blaine before, a quick fuck in an almost pitch-black field was a very different matter from a full-on 'shower' under the glare of the early morning autumn sun.

"I don't know why you have such a problem with being naked," Blaine said off-handedly. "It's not like I find you ugly or anything. And as I said last night, it's nothing I haven't seen before, generally or…" His eyes flicked almost imperceptibly downwards. "Specifically."

Kurt's stomach did funny things as Blaine slowly began to pick away at the tight knot of his insecurities.

"So, you ready?" Blaine interrupted, his grin too wide to be benign.

"As I'll ever be," Kurt responded as he began to strip off, eager to distract Blaine with conversation for as long as possible. "So what kind of shampoo do you have? Like, I prefer to use organic stuff but I suppose if that isn't an option I can deign to allow a lower quality product just this once –"

"I don't have any shampoo right now," Blaine mumbled, looking ashamed.

Kurt spun round. "What?!"

Blaine just shrugged. "I ran out and didn't have enough money to buy any more, okay. No need to get prissy, I'm sure your _precious_ hair will survive for a few days."

And Kurt knew that. Really, he did. But he was feeling defensive and naked and _scared _and he couldn't stop himself from saying, "I saw you buying _condoms_, Blaine. Condoms. How can you have no money for shampoo yet enough to buy out the entire contraceptive aisle of that mini-mart?"

And then Blaine's face dropped. He looked kind of… wounded. Certainly upset.

"Sorry," Kurt murmured, immediately feeling the agony of guilt as it soaked its way into his skin like some kind of chemical burn. "Heat of the moment."

Blaine said nothing. Instead, he poured the bottle of water out over Kurt's head, giving no warning at all. Kurt's body screamed in shock.

"FUCK. _Blaine_."

Blaine's stony stare broke into a giggle. "You're forgiven."

"I am so going to get you back," Kurt screeched, his voice reedy and his body shivering.

A beat of silence. Blaine looked at him oddly, down up down.

"I'd like to see you try." His voice had gone dark and low now, flirty. Close to the voice Kurt remembered.

"Oh yeah?" Kurt challenged as he desperately tried to get his (Blaine's) boxers back on to assuage the promiseless flirtation. "Watch out Mr. Blaine, I'm gonna get you. I don't know when and I don't know how but I absolutely will. Mark. My. Words. But first I need to get these underpants on."

Blaine smiled, flirtiness making way for the return of his congenial self so quickly that Kurt began to think he'd imagined the whole thing. He was overwhelmed by the sheer number of personae that had just masqueraded right before his eyes: unhappy Blaine, playful Blaine, wounded Blaine, giggly Blaine.

And now, it appeared, content Blaine.

"It's my turn now," he said. He looked far too happy about it.

"But we don't have any water." That was probably how he'd get away with it, Kurt thought. No water.

"Oh. That." Blaine replied, still smiling mysteriously as he disappeared off into the tent. He returned a few moments later, clutching the bottle that had held Kurt's pills tightly to his chest.

"Oh god Blaine, you didn't pee in it did you?"

Blaine laughed. "No. I did sleep with it though. Now it's lovely and warm. Mmmmm." He clutched it tighter as he snuggled it into his chest.

"I hate you," Kurt said, trying and failing to conceal the smile that was leaking over his face.

"Whatever," Blaine shrugged. "Here, hold the bottle while I strip off."

Kurt took it and looked down at the ground, not wanting to be caught staring. Not that he would be. No.

But Blaine was onto him.

"You can look, Kurt. I really don't care. It isn't a big deal to me any more."

Kurt winced at that. But he still looked up. And gosh, Blaine was… Blaine was stunning.

And, judging from the way he was strutting around, he knew it too.

Kurt snapped himself out of it and proceeded to pour the water over Blaine's head. Blaine shivered.

"Fuck, it's still cold."

"Not as cold as mine."

"True."

Silence.

And then Blaine broke it. "Do you think we'll have sex again? I'm kinda… you know… horny."

Kurt's breath hitched and he began to cough, his fit becoming worse after he caught sight of... well.

"Fucking hell, Kurt, don't have another asthma attack," Blaine snapped. "It was a simple question."

"Sorry," Kurt whispered as he slowly began to get his breath back.

"Well umm anyway," Blaine said, calmer now, "The option's always there. Just so you know. But please don't have another asthma attack if I mention it again because the last one was fucking terrifying, okay?"

Kurt somehow found the energy to nod through the silence while Blaine reached for the towel.

"And… um… sorry if asking that was… you know, the wrong thing to say," Blaine continued. "I know our views on stuff like that are different and that now is a really shitty time for you and… like, I don't expect anything, you know? Like, just because it happened once, doesn't mean I assume you're mine forever or anything stupid like that. It'd be a totally casual thing, no assumptions or expectations. Right?"

Somehow, that made it worse.

"Right," Kurt managed. "Right."

And then Blaine leaned in for a hug. Kurt held him tightly, gripping onto the one spectre of a person he had who could see things (somewhat) as they really were.

* * *

After working out roughly where they were on Blaine's map, they headed out to the village of Harrod, population 500. They'd come farther than they'd thought the night before and within half an hour of determined walking they had arrived on the village main street. It was pretty dead and the houses were flaking and grey, tools and trailers discarded on unkempt lawns. An ancient Dr Pepper machine was the only real splash of colour, a flaming red thumb in the expanse of raincloud grey.

There didn't look to be any shops.

Anywhere.

"Fuck," said Blaine as he looked around, "This shithole looked a hell of a lot bigger on the map. We need food and drink or _at_ _least _water purification tablets." He looked around sadly. "Guess there's nothing useful here." He wandered over to the vending machine. "It's $3 for a can. Dr. Pepper must be making a mint."

"It's okay, I've got the money," Kurt said quickly, feeling guilty that Blaine had so far paid for everything. He reached for his wallet in his pocket, but suddenly a hand was on his right over his hip and his skin was lighting up again and oh god he was blushing and he looked at the boy with his eyes and hair and –

"You may have it now," Blaine replied easily, "But if you're willing to pay $3 for a can of soda you won't have much for very long. Don't feel like you have to pay your way. It's just… it's just good you're here at all."

Kurt nodded, catching the multiple meanings Blaine had insinuated.

"Anyway," Blaine continued authoritatively, removing his hand, "We're gonna have to get to Alger now. It's only like an hour away."

Kurt groaned.

"Shut up, Kurt, this is the kind of shit we'll have to do and complaining makes it ten million times worse."

"I just want shampoo," Kurt pined.

Blaine sighed. "Then just look at the horizon and imagine a giant fucking bottle of shampoo standing there. Aussie is good for your hair type, right? Imagine that. Maybe it'll provide some level of motivation. Just stop complaining."

A beat of silence.

"What do you see? On the horizon, I mean?" Kurt whispered, looking down at the ground so he wouldn't have to look the other boy in the eye.

More silence.

And when Kurt looked up, Blaine was ten metres further along the road.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

It was past lunch time when they made it to Alger. Again, there was nothing there. Just houses. And grass. And trash. And trailers.

A stab in the gut.

Literally.

Because when they set off again down that same cracked-up and deserted road, their stomachs were growling and their backs were aching from the many miles they'd covered already. Kurt's feet, trapped in leather shoes (bought for fashion rather than hiking) were beginning to blister and bleed, and his hair was greasy and flat because dry shampoo doesn't grow in the wild. Looking down, he could tell that Blaine's feet were not faring too well either, cut up by pebbles that had entered through the cracks in his broken leather boots.

And then, when he'd thought it couldn't get more miserable, it began to rain, first a drizzle and then a downpour so heavy that the water bounced of the road. They were drenched in seconds, neither of them having waterproof clothing. Kurt looked over and saw water dripping off Blaine's nose, his hair glued to his head and his body shivering through wet clothes. He looked much skinnier like this, he thought; judging from their wet creases, the now-limp clothes had been bought for a boy of much larger stature. Unsurprising really.

Conversation stultified as the rain continued to pour, and they trudged on and on, cold, wet and hungry. An almost awkward silence came and persisted, stretching out as they dragged their feet along the sodden road, aching for food and rest and dry shoes and relief from pain.

Because silence meant thinking. And thinking meant hurt. Sharp pebbles through Kurt's torn up mind.

The worst pain of all.

And yet they trudged on.

Eventually, just as it had begun to feel like the whole Earth was about to be swept away, the rain stopped. Just like that. As if it had been that easy all along, a giant 'off' switch in the sky. The air was damp now, heavy with petrichor and water and dust. It clung to the boys' skin, clothes, hair, bags, everything. At least they were able to start drying off.

"Let's camp here," Blaine announced about four miles later, breaking Kurt out from thoughts of bald heads and televised football and undercooked chicken and blistering Achilles tendons. He blinked a bit as Blaine dropped his heavy pack at the side of the road, taking the trouble to actually _look _at the surroundings for the first time in miles. It was just low level greenery that looked vaguely like it might scratch his legs if he lay down on it. Nothing about it made it appear hospitable enough to be a campsite. But nothing had for about ten miles. And the sun was going down and their shadows were lengthening and they needed somewhere to sleep, and, Kurt supposed, this hellhole was as good as any.

He cleared some ground as Blaine wordlessly went off to gather some wood from the thicket. When he returned, Kurt helped arrange the sticks in the way he had been shown the night before, cringing as pieces of wet bark stuck like slugs to his fingers. He distracted himself by looking at the intricate dance their hands were doing instead, watching as they twitched whenever they came near each other, like flies around a candle. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to break their fragile individual bubbles with the static fizz of an accidental touch.

Finally, after about twenty attempts that used up about eight of Blaine's precious matches, the fire was eventually lit, and sparks bubbled through the soaked wood.

"I'm so hungry," Kurt muttered once they were settled, his teeth chattering as he warmed his hands against the flames.

"Well, no use complaining as we have no food," Blaine said, a harsh tone tingeing the edges of his words. "None."

"I know."

Blaine looked down, peeling the bark off a small twig. "Yeah, sucks."

The silence lingered. Blaine pick pick picked at the twig until it was bare, and then threw it in the flames. And then he got another. And picked away at that.

And Kurt's mind began to wander again with the same questions that had been tugging at his mind since they'd started walking that morning. Where was his dad? What were they doing to him? When would he be buried? His stomach flipped uncomfortably, hungry and disturbed and horribly, horribly anxio –

"I'm bored," Blaine announced suddenly, causing Kurt to leap out of both his skin and his thoughts. "Let's do something."

Kurt sighed irritably. "Blaine, I am not sleeping with you."

"Hey, calm down. I wasn't suggesting that at all."

Kurt shrugged.

"I think I'll pierce my ear again," he said nonchalantly, rubbing at what was presumably the skin in question with the fingers of his right hand. "I was thinking about it today."

Kurt just looked at him, trying to work out whether Blaine was seriously about to do this. "That sounds stupid."

"Well, I'm bored," Blaine replied with a shrug, as if that was enough explanation.

"But it might get infected. You might get Hep B or something."

Blaine rolled his eyes, looking truly teenage.. "Hasn't happened yet. I trust myself."

"_Right_. Are you not afraid it might look… well, tacky?"

"How could it? They're asymmetrical at the moment. I'll just put another one into my right lobe and be done with it… Until the next time. I'm not trying to be an ear model or anything."

"Whatever," Kurt said, unimpressed. "Your body, your choice."

At that Blaine finally smiled. He took the bag and fished around in it for a while, eventually retrieving a cork and a small plastic sachet containing a green captive bead ring and what looked to be a sewing needle. "Exactly."

Kurt tried to ignore the intensifying, twisting anxiety in his gut as he watched as Blaine shoved the needle into the flames, his big dark eyes blinking down at the carbon forming on the surface of the silver metal. He then took one of the vodka bottles in his bag and poured some over a paper tissue, which was then used to remove the carbon.

"Won't that really hurt?" Kurt asked, by this point feeling more than slightly panicked. "That's a _sewing _needle, Blaine. Can't you just wait until we find a mall or something –"

Blaine raised a hand to stop Kurt mid-sentence. "Hey," he said over-calmly, "My body, my choice, right?"

Kurt just shrugged, feeling utterly helpless as Blaine tried to line the needle up while peering into a cracked mirror balanced on his knees.

Kurt sighed. "Here, I'll hold it."

Blaine smiled in thanks and passed the mirror over to Kurt.

"Right," said Blaine, "Here we go then." And then he plunged the needle into his ear, wincing when it wouldn't go all the way through. "Hey, Kurt, pass me that cork."

And Kurt did. And Blaine winced again. "The last bit of skin is the worst."

Kurt felt physically sick as he watched as Blaine's fingers relaxed away from the needle to leave it just hanging there in the flesh.

"Pass me the bag," he said.

Kurt obliged, only too glad to look away.

"Okay, now this is the tricky bit. Hold the mirror up again."

Kurt found himself watching as Blaine's fingers pushed the needle through with the ring behind it. He made it look easy. But it was still gross. And his stomach was still churning.

"There we go," Blaine said, taking the mirror from Kurt as he screwed the bead onto the ring. "How do I look?"

"Exactly like you did before, except with a red ear."

"Not funny."

Silence.

"Would you ever do it?"

Kurt shook his head vigorously. "No, it doesn't look very… um…. Sanitary. And it looks really painful."

Blaine just shrugged. "It's kind of addictive though. Once you do one. It feels really liberating."

"Right," Kurt replied absently, gazing into the fire.

"I'd do it for you if you wanted."

"No, I don't want you to, Blaine. Just… just stop talking to me. I kind of want to be alone now. You and your… _attention seeking_…can you just… just… stop it."

Hurt flashed its way across Blaine's face before it was smothered with a profound look of sadness. Kurt saw his eyes fall down towards his shoes for a brief second, before they flicked back up to stare into his side of the fire. "Sorry," he eventually murmured.

"Mmm," Kurt said, verging on tears. Relief? Hurt? He didn't know any more.

And they sat in silence, just like that, for a good fifteen minutes, each left to their own thoughts. Kurt's tears waved with the flickering fire, the flames drifting in front of his face and the heat filtering in through his eyes until his throbbing brain felt like it was being cremated inside his skull. Before he knew it, tears were running thickly down his face, coating his cheeks a sticky mask of desolation. His fingers twitched together and apart, together and apart in his lap, over and over, the touch dull and his vision blurred.

Everything was at once muted and completely overwhelming. It had been for two weeks, really, but now it was raw as a severed limb because he'd had 48 hours of distraction from it all. He sat helplessly as it all flickered nightmarishly through his head, a horror movie with him as the protagonist: first his dad and then the sex and then the Jones's and now, now this really _really _weird boy who changed like the weather and who apparently liked sticking needles through his ears and who never had enough food for himself let alone the two of them and Kurt suddenly felt bad and Blaine probably hated him and his moodiness and –

And arms were circling round his shoulders, hands were in his hair and soft, undecipherable words of encouragement were being whispered in his ear.

Blaine.

Kurt curled up into his arms and sobbed harder.

"Ssssh, ssssh," Blaine whispered, "It'll be okay, trust me. You gotta trust me, Kurt, it'll be okay."

He found himself clinging onto the boy and his words.

"Shit. Kurt, just… Kurt calm down, _please_, just calm down."

"Sorry," Kurt wheezed, "I'm… I'm so sorry… I can just go and everything will be… better for you."

Blaine froze. He took a deep breath, like he was about to walk over hot coals. Like he was scared of getting something badly wrong.

"Why would things be better if you left?" he whispered.

Kurt gazed at him through his tears, suddenly terrifyingly resolute. "Food, money, water, space in the tent…"

Blaine interrupted him with a shake of the head. "I don't care about those things, Kurt. I have enough to keep me alive, that's all I need."

"But you're hungry now."

Blaine let out a dry, bitter laugh. "What? You think I haven't gone without food before?" Kurt twitched against him and he lowered his voice. "And you – you just – you stop me from getting lonely, okay? It's nice to have someone here…. with me, you know?"

Kurt nodded a bit against Blaine's chest, and Blaine gripped him tighter. He held him for about five minutes.

"You feeling better yet?" he asked.

Kurt sat up a bit, suddenly aware that he'd been clinging to this boy he barely knew like his life depended on it. "Yeah, yeah… um. Sorry… about that. And, um, for being a bitch. Your earring looks nice."

Blaine shrugged. "Thanks. And it's fine, honestly." His eyes flicked down to the ground, where the fire was licking at the muddy earth. "So… uh… we're cool? Um."

Kurt nodded. "Yeah. Thanks Blaine."

Blaine smiled softly and looked back up at him. "No worries, you can always talk to me, okay?"

Kurt swallowed and nodded. "Please don't ask me to sleep with you now," he whispered, the faintest of smiles passing over his face.

Blaine looked affronted, slapping his hand to his chest. "Moi?"

And they both laughed.

And, somehow, Kurt was able to breathe a little easier. At least for now.


End file.
